


Equal Footing

by MissDavis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But not really shoe kink, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Height Differences, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, POV John Watson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock up against the wall, Shoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had certainly never shown any interest in women's footwear, or in seeing John appear as anything but fully male. But five extra inches—that opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equal Footing

**Author's Note:**

> My longer work in progress is getting me down, so I dug up this little piece that I started a while back and finished it. If you're reading Breakable, my WIP, feel free to imagine that this is the same John and Sherlock, in earlier, happier times. If you're not reading it, go read it! :) But it's nothing like this at all.
> 
> I'm never really sure about the line between explicit and mature, so basically if the sex is the main focus of the story, I call it explicit and if it's secondary, I call it mature.

He found them on the clearance rack, marked half-off. Size 8. Women's. Wide width. John might be short but he didn't have girl feet. But these fit, or close enough, anyway. It wasn't like he was going to be wearing them out in public. He'd probably kill himself if he tried to take more than a couple steps in them. They had five-inch heels, after all; that was the point.

Five-inch heels. Chunky, not the thin stilettos he usually thought of when he pictured women's high heels. Black velvet, with a strap around the ankle. Were they sexy? Maybe. He tried to imagine them on any of the women he'd ever dated and couldn't. And wearing them didn't make him feel especially sexy. Which was fine; he wasn't really interested in cross-dressing. And Sherlock—Sherlock had certainly never shown any interest in women's footwear, or in seeing John appear as anything but fully male. 

But five extra inches—that opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities.

He knew he wouldn't be able to hide them from Sherlock for long so he put them on that evening and then called Sherlock into the bedroom. John made sure he was standing on the far side of the bed when Sherlock appeared in the doorway. Not that he was expecting Sherlock not to notice, but at least this way he got to see a moment of uncertainty cross Sherlock's face.

"What are you standing on, John?"

"New shoes," John said, trying to keep his face blank.

Sherlock squinted one eye at him, head tilted, then threw himself onto the bed, face first, sliding across the duvet in what was apparently the most efficient and dramatic way to get a look at John's feet.

"What the hell are those?" Sherlock sat up and scrambled back a little, as if the heels were a bit frightening. "Since when are you into—?"

"I'm not, you arse. Get up here." John reached out and grabbed for an arm to pull Sherlock off the bed and onto his feet. "Don't even look at them. Just—here." He tilted his head up—just a little bit, no more than an inch!—and kissed Sherlock.

Sherlock kissed him back. There was no stretching or bending or reaching or hunching, just kissing, two men with their heads at almost the same height. It was glorious.

John slid his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. That actually felt a little strange. Sherlock was just a bit less broad across the shoulders than John was, and John's arms circled him easily, but they fell in the wrong position. Usually he'd reach up and lock his hands behind Sherlock's neck and his forearms would rest on Sherlock's shoulders. Now his elbows were on Sherlock's shoulders. Weird. He lowered his arms and squeezed Sherlock's arse, instead. Much better. And their cocks were lined up almost perfectly, too.

John could feel Sherlock's smirk even through their kiss. He cupped John's face in his hands and pulled back enough to say, "You bought yourself women's shoes just so you could kiss me?"

"Not just kiss you," John said, and slammed his hips against Sherlock's, keeping hold of his arse. Sherlock grunted and lowered his mouth to John's right shoulder. Still no need for bending or stretching. John felt the sharp sting of teeth through his shirt. "Oi!" It hurt just the right amount.

He tightened his hands on Sherlock's arse for a moment, then shifted his grip to his hips so he could spin him around. Sherlock turned easily, gracefully, not fighting the movement, which was good, because John felt his own balance slipping and had to steady himself with a hand against Sherlock's back. Sherlock arched into the hand and John buried his face in the curls on the back of his head.

The curls moved as Sherlock peeked over his shoulder at John, another smirk on those brilliant lips. "Bit unsteady on your feet, are you?"

"Shut it," John said, and pushed Sherlock toward the wall. Three steps and they were both there, no twisted ankles, just Sherlock pressed up against the wallpaper, hands splayed to either side of him.

John snickered. "Did you just hump the wall?" 

Sherlock didn't reply, just bucked back against John's hips. "Come on, show me how tall you are. Big man."

"Oh, you—" John used his hips to shove Sherlock flat against the wall again, pretended he hadn't almost just fallen out of the shoes, and then had to ease off Sherlock's arse so he could reach around and unfasten the other man's trousers.

Sherlock was laughing. John was going to make him stop. He pushed Sherlock's trousers and pants down in one smooth, practiced motion and then pressed up against him, still fully clothed. His lips were so close to Sherlock's ear that he barely had to whisper. "Do you think I'm too short to take you right here?"

"No." The laughter was gone and Sherlock's voice was rougher than normal, muffled against the wall. "But I think you need to take those clothes off and find some lube, first."

John growled and pushed himself upright. "Get it." He managed to step back toward the bed without tripping and sat down to pull off all his clothes. His trousers and boxers were loose enough to slide over the shoes, so he didn't have to fight with the buckles again.

Sherlock kicked off his pants and stripped out of his shirt and then stood in front of him, tossing the lube from one hand to the other. When John reached to take it from him, Sherlock nimbly stepped back. John lunged for it, his weight landing on his right foot, and Sherlock caught him as he wobbled, holding the lube just out of reach. "Looks like you need something to make your arms longer, too," he said, but when John pushed him up against the wall again, facing each other this time, Sherlock dropped his arm and popped open the tube. 

John held Sherlock's shoulders against the wall and snogged him thoroughly while Sherlock slicked up his hand and then took hold of both their cocks. John found himself rocking forward onto his toes, which surprisingly helped him to balance better on the shoes.

"You're going to get foot cramps," Sherlock said, not breaking his rhythm as he stroked them both.

"Don't care," John said, and moved his lips to Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock's whole body shifted slightly sideways as he dropped his left hand, reaching down and behind himself.

"Oh my God, what are you doing?"

"Getting myself ready, obviously." He lowered his shoulder to give himself more reach and John shivered. 

"Hurry up," he whispered against Sherlock's ear. 

"Mmm-hmm." Sherlock turned his head and pushed his tongue into John's mouth. 

John let him explore for a moment, then pulled away. Sherlock whimpered at the loss of contact and John shoved his first two fingers into Sherlock's mouth to placate him. Sherlock sucked at them and John reached down to move Sherlock's hand away from his cock. "Are you ready?" He had better be, because John wasn't sure how much longer he could last. 

"Yes." Sherlock let John's fingers slide out of his mouth and gave one more thrust of his hand into his own backside. John's breath caught and he stumbled backward. Sherlock turned around and rested his hands and shoulders against the wall again, head turned to the left, arse tilted out, on offer for John. 

John grabbed the lube from where Sherlock had dropped it and squeezed way too much into his hand. He covered his cock with it and then wiped the excess onto Sherlock. Sherlock wiggled back against John's hand and John could feel how open he'd made himself; he slid three fingers into Sherlock without the least bit of resistance. Sherlock moaned and John swept his fingers against his prostate, turning the moan into a gasp. 

John drew his fingers out and fitted his body against Sherlock's pale back, remembering the point of the shoes when his cock settled against Sherlock's arse cheeks, several inches higher than it would normally be. He grinned and nipped at Sherlock's neck, then took his cock in hand and guided it into place. Perfect. His weight was on his toes but the shoes held him there, and Sherlock didn't have to slouch; he just thrust his cheeks back against John, grinding himself down onto him. John put his right hand on the wall next to Sherlock's to brace himself and wrapped his left arm around Sherlock, giving his nipple a quick twist before sliding down to find Sherlock's leaking cock.

"Aah—" Sherlock seemed to have lost the ability to speak a while ago, and now he turned his head to rest his forehead against the wall. John loved seeing Sherlock like this, stripped of clever words and completely given over to John's control. It made John want to simultaneously caress him and tear him apart.

The caressing did not win out. He lowered his head to clamp his teeth around the muscle of Sherlock's shoulder, hard enough to mark. Sherlock's breathing quickened. John tightened his grip on Sherlock's cock and sped up his hand, matching the pace he set with his hips. They'd been doing this for years now—how was he still so surprised at how tight Sherlock felt every time? Even with all the lube, John had to work at it to slide in and out. With each thrust, he felt Sherlock's smooth muscles tighten around him, pulling him both deeper and closer to the edge.

"John, John?" Sherlock sounded desperate. 

"Yeah, love?" John felt the same way, nearly out of control, his climax seemingly just out of reach. Usually by now they'd have moved onto the bed, the height difference cancelled out once they were horizontal; this extended upright rutting was new, intoxicating in its intensity.

"Are you? Please," Sherlock said. "Can't wait any longer."

"Go ahead," John said, and dragged his mouth up along Sherlock's neck, nosed a tangle of hair out of the way to suck on his earlobe. Sherlock keened and John slowed his hand as Sherlock's whole body tensed and then shuddered, his arse convulsing around John's cock. 

"Oh God, Sherlock." John let go of Sherlock's cock and settled both hands against the wall, smearing come across the patterned wallpaper. He let himself settle flush along Sherlock, feeling the heat of his flesh against his own sweaty chest.

Sherlock moaned and threw himself back against John. John felt a moment of unbalance and then Sherlock's hands were on his hips, providing just enough stability to steady him before they slid back farther and cupped his arse, parting his cheeks slightly. John gasped and pressed their bodies impossibly closer, didn't care that he got a mouthful of hair as he came and his whole body tried to empty itself into Sherlock. He shook and shook and shook and collapsed forward entirely, letting more of his weight be supported by Sherlock than by his own legs and the blessed, beautiful shoes. 

John stayed like that, leaning against Sherlock, while his cock softened and slid out and he waited for his breath to come back and his body to work again. 

Sherlock, of course, recovered his wits and his muscle control more quickly and said, "Legs a bit wobbly?"

"Mm." 

"Want me to carry you to the bed?"

"Piss off." John grinned the words against Sherlock's neck. 

Sherlock turned around without letting their bodies lose contact and wrapped his arms around John, lowering them both to the floor. Once he was sitting John realised how much his feet hurt—the straps on the shoes were digging into his ankles and his toes felt crumpled and crushed. He shifted around a bit until he could reach and undo the straps on his left foot. Sherlock took his other foot and unfastened the buckle with surprising gentleness. He pulled off the shoe for John and held it up, letting it dangle by the straps. "Worth it?" he asked, rubbing the long fingers of his free hand lightly over the red marks on John's foot. 

"Oh, yeah," John replied, and kicked his foot free of the other shoe, stretching his leg out over the tangle of his and Sherlock's bodies.

"They were a good idea," Sherlock said, high praise indeed, coming from him. "I'll use them, next time."

John squinted at him, his thoughts still a bit scattered and slow. "They won't fit you. Your feet are huge."

Sherlock just smiled and closed his hand around the five-inch heel. "I didn't say I was going to wear them," he said, and leaned over to pierce John with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, my spouse is 10 inches taller than me. Why do you ask?


End file.
